Recitative Polyphony
by Arya May
Summary: Besides the point, she has strangely grown fond of her two nephews. — Daenerys/Jon/Aegon


_**Recitative Polyphony **_

**A/N: It's been so long since I've written anything, I know. My muse has been as dead as it's ever been in these last few months, and it would have remained that way had I not decided to fuck the spoilers and read the ASoIaF books due to the week long waits between the episodes airing on TV right now. Turns out that they were good to the point where I finished the whole series in a month or so.**

**So anyway- in respects to the story: it follows the R + L = J theory; Jon is a Targaryen, Aegon is one as well (even though imo I'm pretty certain he's a Blackfyre but nevermind for now), Daenerys wins the Iron Throne, and she decides to marry them to "keep them in line". Unfortunately for her, she takes a liking to them both and well...****  
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**Interesting things happen. *immadisgustingperson***

**Please note that _yes, _this obviously involves incest since that's pretty normal for Targs, at any rate. Also, it's an explicit F/M/M threesome; if that squicks you then leave. Now. Otherwise, please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: does it look like I own the characters? **

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_Blood and fire_, Daenerys thinks, the din of the surrounding crowd drowned out in her mind- _blood is family; and family must never be broken. The dragon must have three heads._

It is definitely ironic though, this thought that she carried with her at night, held now close to her heart even as she steeled her eyes, ignoring the hushed whispers that occasionally slipped to her ear. Viserys hadn't been the best brother figure in her life, the gods knew, even though she understood as much that his madness had come from utter degradation; a childish patent on what _should_ have been his where she had taken them with dragonfire. He embodied the only other stone in the ruin of a family that she only knew from word of mouth: her lord father, a walking contradiction of madness or misunderstanding- the former she is now more painfully aware of. Rhaegar, blessed perfection (supposedly) and his dead daughter. Their frail mother who had died giving birth to her in the midst of a storm.

They are to her now no more than names taken out of a history book- even more than before, when Viserys had blamed her for the collapse of the dynasty._ If you had been born earlier, Rhaegar wouldn't have taken Lyanna Stark. If you had been born earlier, you wouldn't have killed mother. _Being sold to the Dothraki was the first realization that her name meant nothing without force backing up the words; the Iron Throne was hers because of her dragons, not because of her claim- which had been contested by a handful of other prospective kings. _Aegon the Conqueror took because he could. I took because _I_ could._

The prophecy though, says that the dragon must have three heads. She is familiar with prophecies, and hates them. Look what had become of her brother in his infatuation with surrogate destiny, and Mirri Maaz Dur's revelations. But she is not a child anymore and knows when to hold her words inside of her heart. She says nothing.

A year after the dust had settled over the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros she is wed for the third time, but this time in the traditional Targaryen fashion. Daenerys doesn't pretend not to know what is being said out of earshot_- unthinkable_ _that_ _a woman should marry two men_, or more crudely- _the demoness and her dragonspawn_; but blood was thicker than water and politics survived on duty, not pleasure. Besides the point, she has strangely grown fond of her two nephews.

It's easier that she thought it would be to get along with Jon, who is more Stark than Targaryen in both looks and personality, cold where Aegon was raw and burning. The war's common cause helps them find ways to talk until they're more comfortable with moving out of formalities, and she gifts him with not only Viserion but _legitimization_- the latter which had unduly stalked him since the time when he had been presented to Catelyn Stark in Winterfell. Like his kin, he had been aware from day one that the world was not his on a platter, knew how to fight with teeth and bone against the harshness of reality and had the scars to show for it. They dot both his chest and back and sometimes he wakes up screaming at night for his black brothers to _stop stop stop stop stop_.

Unsurprisingly, he refused all the other titles that she had offered him, making it clear from the start that he had no intention of taking what he did not need. Home was still Winterfell (_the Wall_) for him; family was his cousins and the other dead Starks, not silver haired dragon riders who he had barely known before fate had driven them together. But he is fast to learn and he will accept with due time. Like Daenerys, he understands duty.

Aegon is another story, fire to the ice of Jon, full where he was not. Despite the fact that he was supposed to be the eldest, he still manages to to be so brazenly _childish_ on occasions that it infuriates her. He is a every inch his father's son, a Targaryen prince whose eyes and hair matched her own, though he is more tanned and tall where her skin was ironically enough- was prone to burn in the sun. Rhaegal had taken a liking to him immediately, just as she had taken a liking to the army that followed at his heels to begin with, and later and more reluctantly, his easy charisma which had initially rubbed her the wrong way. Nevertheless, he is arrogant and a little naïve, who argued with her often and won more times than she would have liked; offended one noble too many for not giving a _damn_ that his son was the heir to so and so place- _merit_ was the currency that he had always dealt with, and even though his aunt agreed silently, it caused more political issues than it fixed. Sometimes she wonders if it's his Martell strains that causes him to flirt so _openly_ with anybody he wanted- men and women both, it didn't matter.

She hates that she was among their number- is _still_ there, and she thinks- more for his amusement than anything else even though they already had their way. He is beautiful and well educated, but is also what she personally dubs a cocky self-loving _ass_. But they are family, and even though _he_ may crave to sit on his namesake's Throne more than he wants _her_ to in his place- he understands duty and accepts.

To wed them both on her part was mainly a way to keep them in check, because even if they were family, the disintegration of House Baratheon was already a walking warning of _might_ happen. _Might_ was not a word that Daenerys was fond of toying with. She had come too far and sacrificed too much to even contemplate jeopardizing what she had won.

A single look at Drogon (now as large as a small house)was enough to convince the High Septon that their marriage would be legitimate in the eyes of the Seven. She did not miss the way Aegon's eyes darkened as he studied Jon afterwards, nor the words that he whispers in his brother's ear.

She did not miss the fact that they were both missing from dinner, nor the way Jon stiffly moved the following morning. A demand of an explanation from her other nephew yields a simple, "He wasn't convinced. I convinced him for you."

Daenerys wants to be angry at him, but she knew that Aegon did more good than harm; Jon never wished to stay in King's Landing- now he changes his mind. The fact is reinforced when she visits him herself that night, and takes what was promised to her from the start. Then, a few days past, they do it together- all three of them. It's more gratifying than she would have imagined; kindles feelings that had long lain dormant. She falls asleep between them and feels secure for the first time in years; they are not Drogo but the night lands had already staked its claim on his soul. That night she dreams of dragons and wolves and the sun and stars.

The wedding she plans herself, more as a show of power than anything else to the nobles who still doubted her- those who compare them to her "_mad father_"- claiming that the same blood that flowed through her veins would doom them all. They try to control her too, even under the watchful gaze of Ser Jorah, now serving officially as her Hand. They are nothing new. She's learned from her mistakes in Mereen.

The dragon must have have three heads, as it was said. The great Other still loomed on the other side of the continent, scattered but not _exterminated_. She and her blood would come with dragons and fire while the ones who dared not say their words to her face would hide under their castles like rats.

The thought makes her smile for some reason- that, and how she's aware of the so many eyes fixated on her, silent and in awe. _Good, let them all think that I am untouchable. I am Daenerys Stormborn, the blood of Old Valyria. I am Queen by right of conquest and inheritance. I am not the child nor the demon you make me to be. _Dressed in a lavish silk gown of black and red, her silver hair done in coiled braids on the sides of her head, she approached both of her betrotheds and took Jon's hand in her left, Aegon's in her right. Neither of them wore the usual cloak of protection; it was not needed, after all- for this was her third marriage and it would seem foolish to take two of them at once on her shoulders.

After the vows are said and done, Jon kisses her chastely on her lips while Aegon is more demanding- though smart enough to at least let it remain permissible for court. Jon smiles when a wink is sent his way from his brother in the place of what he _would_ have given, but Westerosi social etiquette nevertheless dictated otherwise.

Etiquette though, was something that most of them disdained. Behind their door after the festivities had ended- all which had been in truth, a political melting pot of less joy and more calculation, she was the first to shrug off her uncomfortable layers, feeling the burning gazes of her nephews- _husbands_- at her back. The servants had been sent away; both Aegon and Jon had never gotten used to them anyway, one having grown up on a boat as a sellsword's son and the other having been too long at the Wall. As her shoulders were bared, she takes the heavy combs out of her hair, letting her braids come loose down her back. Only then does she feel their hands on her skin- Jon's cautious touch, Aegon tugging at her bodice- Jon's mouth on her neck, Aegon's hands around her breasts. There is that heat coiling in her stomach like golden flames when they make it to the bed and she watches Jon kiss his brother, nimble fingers quickly undoing his clothes. Aegon tracing Jon's scars with a look that she can't really read.

So she crawls up to him and plants kisses down his back, one hand lounging idly in his dark hair and the other wrapped around his clavicle, feeling the lean curve of her other husband's shoulders pressed against it. Aegon's eyes had darkened to a shade that was nearly pitch black in colour as he took her thumb into his mouth- causing her to moan in surprise with Jon's stare following his lips. Already she could feel the wetness between her legs growing as image after image passed through her mind- that silver head nested against her thighs, tongue lapping up her juices; the same mouth on her teats, circling her nipples. No sooner does Aegon's chuckle bring her out of the reverie does she see Jon palming the front of his pants, causing the sound to cut to a sharp gasp. It's only a second later when Jon takes him in hand, caressing the hard flesh with his calloused fingers and leaving the silver haired man groaning into his arm.

Daenerys moves from her post behind Jon's back to Aegon, who eagerly presses his face against her sex, manipulating it in time to his brother's strokes, slowly and sensually as he was wont to be. She was impatient tonight though. Tucking her hair behind an ear, she worked at his balls while Jon threads his fingers through her locks of beaten moonlight, whispering encouragement that only serves to make Aegon moan and buckle his hips harder. His body tenses up and he would have come, had he not pulled himself aside in the last second. A perfect eyebrow is raised at Jon, who sheepishly looks at his still clothed body, having had already made a mess with precum.

"Well, Lord Jon," Daenerys says in that seductive tone of hers, a voice reserved for the sheets that gave them the chills everytime she used it-"seeing your altruism firsthand pleases us immensely. Why don't you take the lead this time around?"

He had always been more of a passive man in the bedchamber, she and Aegon both knew. The last- and only other time- they had lain together, Jon had mostly been on the sidelines, holding himself in hand as he watched his brother fucked their aunt on all fours. While it had been something that she had always _remembered_, half fondly and half out of embarrassment, she had felt slightly guilty for not holding him closer.

So this time when the wolf hungry face overtook his clouded grey eyes, it was Daenerys who spread her legs for him, sighing as he pushed himself inside her wet folds. A few thrusts forward and-

"Aegon," the man manages to say, his face flushed a deep red as his breathing rattled in his chest, "I want- I want _you_ in me as well. _Please_."

The request is all too eagerly granted. Daenerys watches with hooded eyes as they kiss- more gently than they had before, where blood had almost been drawn in the frenzy- and Jon offers himself to Aegon's slicked up fingers, covered in the juices of her cunt. Something about the scene- the raw sexuality of it, fluid and _powerful _makes her knees go a little weak. She slides herself back onto Jon's cock once he's comfortably riding Aegon's, and for a moment their breathing is one.

_Oh_, thinks Daenerys- _oh_- as she feels her walls clench around his sex, sending shivers running down into her core, where he was buried at the hilt. When he starts moving, the feeling manifests itself between her thighs, pleasure taking form in a drawn out fire, tended by the whispers of northern winters. It is echoed in Jon's gaze- imprinted on his tongue as they swipe at her lips. Buried into his unspoken words when he mutters sweet nothings next to her ear. _This is completion. This is-_

When she comes, it is with a cry that breaks the still atmosphere and the feeling of her high at its apex, rushing out of her with each convulsion of her body. Her head is light and she only makes sense of half of her surroundings as she slips off of Jon, watching through hooded eyes as he and Aegon reach their climaxes. The former sighs in content as the semen that was coating his stomach is cleaned up by two pairs of willing mouths, his own thighs still streaked with his brother's exertions; the sheets are ruined but nobody really gave it a second thought.

Daenerys allowed herself fall into the grips of sleep after, lulled by her husbands' steady breathing. She was nested inbetween them- wolf on one side and dragon on another, lit by the starlight that fell from the window. Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear the faint cries of her dragons, who flew the skies of Westeros freely, just as they had in those faraway days of when they had brought the Seven Kingdoms back into one fold.

"Mine," she whispered into the cool air, tightening her arms around both their shoulders, "Blood is family and family must never be broken. Now and forever."

_Yes_, came the reply, warming her as she closed her eyes- knowing that all was well and that her kin stood loyal with her. _The dragon must have three heads._

Outside, the full moon peeked out from the protean clouds, bathing the city with the glow of algird midnight. The sound of the sea echoes in her dreams, and she holds the two close to her heart, knowing for the first time that it was Spring.

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**FINIS**


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